


O Godhead Hid

by Euterpein



Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 12 Days of Blasphemy Challenge (Good Omens), Aftercare, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Choking, Collars, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Enthusiastic Consent, M/M, Not Beta Read, Rough Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Top Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: After the apocalypse, Crowley learns to worship in his own way.-----------------------------------------------------He wasn’t honestly sure where he was. Well, he knewphysicallywhere he was.Physicallyhe was in their cottage on the South Downs, likely tucked into one of the little pocket dimensions they sometimes summoned up when they needed a space that the modest house couldn’t accommodate. Beyond that, he had no idea. Aziraphale had fitted him with a blindfold--touched with Grace, no peeking--before leading him in here and leaving him, and despite his other senses working on overdrive to try and identify the location he was...well. He wasin the dark.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: 12 Days of Blasphemy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094198
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52
Collections: 12 Days of Blasphemy 2020, Top Aziraphale Recs





	O Godhead Hid

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "12 Days of Blasphemy Challenge! Original challenge can be found [here](https://twitter.com/Great_Ass_aFire/status/1325188860725223427).
> 
> If you're seeing this for the second time, don't panic! I originally had them all as a single fic with multiple chapters but decided to list them separately instead.
> 
> Full prompt: "Oh Godhead hid, devoutly I adore thee." I obviously went a little bit off the rails with it, lol!

The plush fibres of the carpet tickled at the delicate skin of Crowley’s legs. He was grateful for them all the same though, perched on his knees as he was, balancing his weight carefully to keep his blood flowing. He had been told to wait here, arms stiffly tucked up behind him, but not for how long. He needed to make sure he could keep it up for the long haul.

He wasn’t honestly sure where he was. Well, he knew _physically_ where he was. _Physically_ he was in their cottage on the South Downs, likely tucked into one of the little pocket dimensions they sometimes summoned up when they needed a space that the modest house couldn’t accommodate. Beyond that, he had no idea. Aziraphale had fitted him with a blindfold--touched with Grace, no peeking--before leading him in here and leaving him, and despite his other senses working on overdrive to try and identify the location he was...well. He was _in the dark_.

The warmth of a merrily crackling fire had been his only companion for the past thirty minutes or so. Another blessing, because Aziraphale had seen fit to strip him of all but his collar before leaving him to go do whatever it was he was doing. The warmth of it lulled him, a snake basking in the sun, helping him relax despite his vulnerable state.

He had struggled, when they’d first started doing this. He had asked for it-- _craved_ it--but it had taken a long time to let himself be like this. To let Aziraphale take the burden of awareness off his shoulders for a little while, to give unto him every bit of himself. It had taken a long time to trust that at the end of it he would be given back, better and brighter and more secure than he had been before.

One of the muscles in his left leg started to complain about sitting in the same position for too long. It was a mild stiffness that built as the long, quiet seconds passed until it grew into an ache he could no longer ignore. He shifted carefully, lifting himself up further onto his knees and stretching each carefully before settling back onto his haunches, widening his stance to put the pressure on a different part of his leg. That had taken a long time too--that easy adjustment, working with rather than against his body. It was a little thing, but he carried it with the pride of any hard-won thing. 

Another trinket, to lay at the altar of his beloved.

“You’re quite beautiful like this, you know,” came Aziraphale’s voice from behind him.

Crowley nearly jumped out of his skin in his surprise. He hadn’t heard Aziraphale return, hadn’t sensed the disturbance in the aether that usually signalled his arrival. He wondered briefly if Aziraphale had imbued his collar with some kind of magic-dampening effect again, and shivered at the thought.

Aziraphale obviously wasn’t expecting an answer. Crowley listened to the careful tread of his footfalls as he drew closer, shivered again at the soft shift of fabric and the delicate _thwump_ of a jacket being tossed unceremoniously to the ground. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of seeing you like this, you know. So relaxed. So...sweet.” 

A soft, warm hand slipped into Crowley’s shoulder-length curls, guiding him to tip his head back. His spine bowed a little to accommodate the position but he went more than willingly, baring his neck, nuzzling into the hand on him just to hear Aziraphale’s soft chuckle at the motion. 

“M’not sweet,” he mumbled, without conviction. 

“You are.” Aziraphale brought his other hand forward to scratch lightly over Crowley’s scalp, then moved downwards. He gave a playful tug to Crowley’s collar--chuckling at the slight gasp that elicited--then ran his hands further down to splay over Crowley’s chest. He was still perched behind him, likely bending over him if the warm breath at Crowley’s temple was any indication, and Crowley bent himself even further to try and coax Aziraphale lower to where his cock was already aching to be touched.

To his disappointment, Aziraphale pulled away almost immediately. Crowley whined softly at the loss of warmth and sensation after so long without touch and Aziraphale shushed him, running a last soothing hand through his hair. Crowley listened as he moved away again, back and to the right. There was the shuffle of fabric again, more clothes joining the jacket, Aziraphale obviously unhurried as he divested himself. The soft _clink_ of a belt being undone made Crowley’s breathing pick up and his mouth start to water against his will--a Pavlovian reaction he had developed not long after the so-called end of the world.

Finally, after what seemed like torturous ages, there came the sound of Aziraphale settling into a chair behind Crowley. “Come here, my dear,” he said. His voice was low, and quiet, but it seemed to echo in Crowley’s head. 

He almost pitched himself over when he started moving too quickly, forgetting for a moment that he couldn’t bring his still-bound arms around to balance him. He caught himself, though, and managed to turn himself and shuffle forward awkwardly on his knees. He followed Aziraphale’s encouraging voice until he felt the warmth of his hand in his hair once again, gently guiding him into a proper position between Aziraphale’s spread thighs. His knees sunk into a thick cushion that had been laid down in front of the chair, and Crowley grinned into his blindfold-induced darkness; he was to be kneeling there a while, then, and _not_ in so comfortable a position as before.

Crowley was hit with a sudden desire to _see_ Aziraphale. He had been in this position countless times before, had the image of what his angel looked like from above him burned into his memory, but he could never get enough.

“Can I see you, angel?” he asked as Aziraphale scratched lazily over his scalp again, petting him like a prized hound.

Aziraphale didn’t pause in his ministrations, but he did hum thoughtfully. “Do you _need_ to see me, or do you _want_ to see me?”

“Want to see you,” Crowley breathed immediately, honest to a fault when he was like this, “Always want to see you, angel.”

That earned him a soft caress, his chin cupped softly in Aziraphale’s hand. “I know, love. For now the blindfold stays on, I think. It’s really quite fetching on you.”

Crowley gave another soft whine of disappointment but didn’t argue. They both knew that if he was _truly_ upset, he had ways of changing the progression of the evening; they both also knew that he wouldn’t use them, not for this. He wanted to see his angel, but that wasn’t the game tonight.

Aziraphale encouraged him to rest his head on his knee for a while, just petting him. Crowley sighed as the short, meticulously maintained nails scratched lightly over his scalp, through his hair. The swirling, circular motions reminded Crowley’s swiftly submerging consciousness of the motions of the planets around the sun.

He had a sudden vision of a ball they had both happened to attend a few centuries before; he’d been a woman at the time, draped in silks and veiled like a widow, and Aziraphale had twirled him around ballroom until all the other dancers had gone home. They had spun like that...

“What are you thinking of, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly, barely louder than the crackling of the fire. “Not that it’s not lovely to see you smiling.”

Crowley let his smile widen, nuzzled his face even further into the warmth of Aziraphale’s still-clothed thigh. “Was thinking about you. Us. That ball at St. George’s, all those years ago.”

Aziraphale huffed in amusement. “Not sure I follow your train of thought there, my love. I remember that ball, though. It had been centuries since we’d happened upon such a favourable occasion. It was so rare to find an excuse to have you in my arms...” His voice held a hint of sadness for a moment, a lamentation of all the time they had lost. 

“Hey, none of that.” Crowley butted his forehead against Aziraphale’s thoughts again, trying to draw him away from that line of thinking. “You have me now. Always.” Crowley didn’t need to have his eyes uncovered to picture the slow, soft smile that comment would have elicited on his angel’s face. 

Aziraphale said, “I do, at that.” His steady hands gathered Crowley’s head into themselves once again, just holding him in a position where Crowley might have been looking right up into Aziraphale’s eyes if not for the blindfold. His hands dipped lower, then, thumbing over the supple leather of the collar at Crowley’s throat. “And what should I do with you now that I have you, I wonder?”

Crowley whimpered a little, tilting his head back to give Azriaphale full access to his neck. “Anything you like, angel.”

“Anything?” Aziraphale’s voice was almost a purr, half tease and half caress. “That’s quite a gift, my dear. I wonder if I might...” One of his thumbs swiped from Crowley’s cheek across to his lips, hovering close without pressing.

It was a question, an invitation, and one which Crowley accepted immediately. He let his thin, serpentine tongue slip out from between his parted lips and over the thumb, letting out a small hiss at the salty sweetness of it. He drew it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pad in the way he knew drove Aziraphale wild, sucking at it triumphantly when it earned him a quiet gasp from Aziraphale above him. 

Aziraphale pulled his thumb away before long, making Crowley whine, but made up for the loss by looping a finger through the collar and pulling him into a kiss. Crowley let out a muffled sound of surprise before it shifted into a moan, the feeling of Aziraphale’s questing tongue at his lips a welcome and familiar sensation.

“So gorgeous like this,” Aziraphale muttered between kisses, holding Crowley in place with the hand on his collar and plundering his mouth relentlessly. “Always so beautiful, my dear, so good--so _good_ for me, Crowley...”

Crowley was helpless to do anything but moan in response. Aziraphale had pulled him up on his knees to the point that he could barely move, head forced back and spine bowed in his supplication. He had no choice but to let Aziraphale take charge, to let his angel take care of him, and he let the overwhelming sensations settle his mind even further into that comfortable, sunken place. 

One of the hands gripping him was pulled away and the distinct sound of a zipper being slid open sounded from just below him. He groaned, feeling his heart skip in anticipation, revelling in the way that Aziraphale was using the kiss to take and take and _take_ in just the way Crowley loved. 

“I’d like to get your mouth on me, if you’re amenable, dear,” Aziraphale said, mild tone a sharp contrast to the iron grip of his hand in Crowley’s hair.

“Yessssss.” Crowley squirmed in Aziraphale’s hold, eager to get started, whining in frustration when he found himself still held firmly in place.

There was a soft rummaging sound and Aziraphale was leaning over him again, forcing him to bend back even further as something was pressed into his hand. Crowley recognized it immediately as one of the rubber ducks from their bath upstairs; it was too unmistakeable a texture and shape to be anything else. He blinked behind the blindfold. “ _Really_ , angel?”

“You’re about to have your mouth full, my dear,” Aziraphale answered him, smirk evident in his voice. “I must make sure you can still let me know if you’re in distress.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” Crowley said, but without much bite. _You’re about to have your mouth full, my dear..._

Aziraphale didn’t deign to answer him. Instead Crowley heard the unmistakable sound of Aziraphale stroking himself just below Crowley’s chin. He groaned again, any further complaints about the rubber duck flown right out the window. His mouth fell open almost on instinct, serpentine tongue flicking out to taste the sweet musk of his angel on the air, wanting nothing more than to get his mouth on him, _now_. 

He didn’t have to wait long. Aziraphale used his grip to guide Crowley forward, lips parted and tongue questing blindly, until he found his goal. They both moaned as Crowley’s lips wrapped triumphantly around the head of Aziraphale’s cock, lapping shamelessly at the precome that had gathered there and as far down the shaft as he could manage.

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale groaned, finally starting to sound as affected as Crowley felt, “oh, you’re _so_ good--so good to me, Crowley, love, _yes!_ ” His grip in Crowley’s hair tightened again. He moved Crowley’s head up and down, just a little, not quite forcing his cock down Crowley’s throat but firmly and definitively setting the pace. Crowley tried to focus on worshipping his angel’s cock with his tongue and let his throat muscles relax as quickly as he could make them; that and thank his lucky stars that he didn’t actually need to breathe. With his knees spread wide on the cushion for balance and his arms still firmly tied behind his back, he had no leverage whatsoever.

He was also loving each and every _second_ of it. He still wished he could see Aziraphale; his angel was a vision, always, and the view from Crowley’s knees was one of his favourites. Here, kneeling at the altar of his guiding star, this was where he belonged.

A particularly deep slide made Crowley gag a little, his throat convulsing and his lungs burning a little as he fought his way through it. 

“F- _fuck_ ,” Aziraphale gasped. His fingers tightened painfully (wonderfully) in Crowley’s hair as he pulled back and breathed hard for a moment. There was a slight _thud_ that Crowley thought might have been his head hitting the back of the chair. After a few moments of deep, even breathing, he said, “That was--can I do that again, love? Colour?”

“Green,” Crowley answered, without even a pause. His own need was aching between his legs just listening to Aziraphale enjoy himself. He’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like the gagging too--it heightened the sense of being _used_ , of being an object for Aziraphale’s pleasure. “Green, angel, _please_ \--”

Aziraphale interrupted him with a fierce, deep kiss that he broke off again almost immediately. “You have your signal if you need it,” he reminded Crowley as he guided him down onto himself once again, letting the fat head of his cock slip past Crowley’s lips with a sigh. He gave a few shallow thrusts, a warm-up or a warning, before making another long slide to the very back of Crowley’s throat and stopping. 

Crowley swallowed around the intrusion, letting himself adjust to the girth of it, feeling the muscles of his throat flutter in nervous anticipation. The iron grip in his hair then pushed forward again, moving with inexorable slowness into his throat at _just_ the wrong (or right) angle. Crowley gagged again, a bitten-off sound, and tried once more to work his way through it.

This time, though, Aziraphale didn’t pull back. He stilled slightly as Crowley sputtered and choked, obviously listening for the squeak of the twice-blasted duck still held in a death grip in Crowley’s bound hand. When it didn’t come he pulled back and pushed forward again, and again, carefully but ruthlessly gagging Crowley on his cock over and over.

Crowley’s head was a jumble of nothing but white noise and _need_. He’d given up trying to fight the intrusion, trying to control his throat muscles or his gagging, and sagged in his bounds. He let Aziraphale move his head however he wanted. The lack of oxygen (strictly necessary or not) and the wonderful, _absolute_ way that Aziraphale was dominating him made his head swim, made him feel almost as though he was floating somewhere above his body. In any other circumstance it might have been frightening; right now, he felt safer than he ever had.

Aziraphale had him.

“Oh, Crowley, love, you’re so--always beautiful, gorgeous, but goodness, you’re just so _wonderful_ , Crowley, my dear, I--” Aziraphale’s babbling barely broke through the haze in Crowley’s mind, but it amplified it somehow anyway. He was being _good_ , he was being _right_ , he was exactly and entirely where he belonged. 

A particularly hard tug at his scalp brought Crowley slightly closer to the surface for a moment. Aziraphale had dispensed with the gagging business and was fucking his face properly now, bringing his head down to meet every upward thrust of his hips, and was doing so with such wild abandon Crowley could sense he was getting close. Some primal instinct beyond his active control had him swallowing reflexively again, working his tongue and his throat as best he could with such a limited range of mobility.

_Give it to me_ , he thought, aimlessly, _Let me have it all._

Aziraphale made a choked-off noise and let out a long moan, his hips giving a few more frantic thrusts before pushing all the way home. Crowley swallowed him down easily, _greedily_ , going so far as to whine and push forward again when a spent Aziraphale finally pulled him away. 

After a few quiet moments where they both just breathed, slowly and carefully, Aziraphale leaned down and carefully removed the blindfold from Crowley’s eyes. Crowley blinked and almost pulled away, despite the relative dimness of the room. Aziraphale cradled his face in his hands again, though, and smiled down on him. His cheeks were flushed a gorgeous pink from his exertion, his eyes bright. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat all over again.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, quietly. He seemed to be lit only by the fire behind Crowley, the shifting glow casting ethereal shadows onto the stone wall behind him. “Thank you, Crowley, that was--that was wonderful. _You_ were wonderful.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure he could respond to that--he often found words difficult when he was like this, anyway, plus his throat was _burning_ \--so he just closed his eyes and let Aziraphale thumb away the tears he hadn’t been aware of from his cheeks with a satisfied sigh. 

“I’m going to take care of you now, love,” Aziraphale went on in that quiet, reassuring voice, “Would you like that?”

Crowley nodded. Now that he was coming back to his body a little bit he was hit with the full force of his need, of the _ache_ between his legs, and he whined, squirming. 

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll be taking care of _that_ first. And then some tea with honey, I should think.” A quick click of his fingers released the chain between Crowley’s cuffs, allowing him to bring his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders as he was scooped up into his arms. 

Crowley snuggled into the warmth of Aziraphale’s neck as he was carried out of the little pocket universe he’d spent the better part of the day in. He was tired, and his knees and throat were sore, and he felt _absolutely wonderful_. Aziraphale would let him keep the collar and cuffs on a little longer, would let him luxuriate in the feeling as long as he liked.

He wrapped his arms around his angel a little tighter, with no intention whatsoever of ever letting go.


End file.
